So for some reason, after a tiring but basically successful day, I became totally and utterly consumed by self-doubt and a desire to hack myself into ribbons mentally, and so I did it and then I felt awful and crap and like I was the most useless person in the world, so I used my tactic of making sure that you play music which redirects your mood from passive to active – which made me angry (which was good), and then for a little bit I felt like everyone else was shit, which was a novel shift in perspective, and then I came home and now I want to complain at someone, but I probably shouldn’t because they’ll think I’m being self-indulgent. Which I probably am. It always worries me when I can’t tell. Like it worries me when I don’t know if I’m talking too much. Or when I feel conversations spiralling out of hand and I don’t know how to steady them out again or withdraw gracefully. Other people have those horrible moments when you don’t know how to make your laughs sound genuine, even though they are. Right?
I don’t know why I should feel the need to go through all this palaver. I normally keep my occasional brain-farts extremely private and controlled – and I don’t know why I should feel like such a bloody inadequate thirty-year old. Where did all this stuff come from? Is it because I was stuck in a room with people all day, and because I find talking to large groups of people so unbelievably terrifying. What the fuck has happened to me after a year of privacy that makes the outside world so overwhelming at times? And when did everyone get so confident that they were right? And where’s the thing in the world that I can be best at that would justify my existence?